I Hear Sirens
by SeventhString
Summary: Rukia is kidnapped for ransom by Ichigo, leader of the Shinigami, a group of outcasts rising to notorious fame. While waiting for rescue, Rukia finds herself immersed in their activities, and their rivalry with the Espada. IchiRuki, more pairings inside
1. Gypsy Behind Bars

**A/N PLEASE READ: **

**First of all, I really hope that people find this plot entertaining. Also, rating may change if I choose to include a few lemons in later chapters. **

**Secondly, yes there will be OC's, BUT they are merely structural devices on plot progression, and also to add some extra depth to the story. I'll make them as un-Mary sue as possible, but as always, I can't cater to everybody's tastes. But they will be minorish, and if people severely object, I'll remove them. Ok? **

**Thirdly, I hope the character's don't seem too OOC. Alert me if you think otherwise or have suggestions on how I can improve.**

**Disclaimer: You all know the jazz. Don't own Bleach yadayadayada only a few OC's. **

**Please Read and review, no flames, the usual! **

**Love,**

**SeventhString**

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><p><em><strong>Chapter One: Gypsy Behind Bars <strong>_

Kuchiki Rukia hated boredom.

_The movies really overrate your teen years_, she thought dryly with a strange feeling of being cheated.

…Or maybe it was just her experiencing a premature mid-life crisis.

Her phone rang, 'Rangiku Matsumoto' flashing on the screen. "What do you want, Rangiku?"  
>"What are you doing today?" Squealed the voice on the other end.<p>

"I might be busy. Why?" Rukia asked cautiously.

"There's a new bar downtown that I really wanna check out! You have to come with me!"

The raven haired girl sighed. "I'm busy."

"But who will go drinking with me?" She could almost see her best friend's pout, guaranteed to sway the boys perhaps, but would not sway her.

"You mean, who will take you home half-conscious and hold your hair while you puke?" Rukia snorted.

"Now you're just being mean, Ruki-chan!"

"Some other time." And she hung up.

Truth be told, she was sick of doing the same old thing every day. School had already bored her incessantly; everyday it was wake up, breakfast, school, come home, do homework, dinner, wash up and sleep. After graduation, she was dismayed to find that all which had changed was instead of school was work, homework became drinks, and dinner usually became non-existent, depending on whether she still had the stamina to eat after fending off the boys and dragging a blubbery, drunk Rangiku home whose woeful apologies did little to make up for the mess she usually left in Rukia's otherwise spotless bathroom. She was just on the brink of nineteen, living alone in a small but cosy apartment earned with her own funds. She had a steady job as a sales assistant in Readings, a trendy bookstore-cum-cafe in the heart of the city, every penny going towards her college finances. She was supposed to be feeling a lust for life, excitement, youth and ambition!

At that moment, all she could feel was an intense hate towards her car as the yellow light indicating a need for oil flashed on the dashboard.

"Damn hunk of metal." She slammed the door roughly, pulling ruthlessly out of the driveway to a chorus of violent honks of protest from the driver behind her. Sticking her finger out the window, she muttered 'damn bastards' under her breath before swerving into the highway, cutting into the middle lane a little too close for comfort otherwise, but had no effect today other than a grim satisfaction she received from having averted so near a danger.

There was one particular spot to which she gravitated when she was feeling pissed. The few people she'd told (few being Rangiku) had laughed at her peculiarity; most people seemed to prefer the dirty, noisy and raucous clubs to relieve their anger, engaging in coitus with a stranger whose name they would've forgotten by the next day. Perhaps it was the appeal of the unknown, the strange human impulse to jump off a cliff and pray there were no rocks below, which led to the popularity of this practise, but she had no inclinations to participate. Indeed, she even hated it.

"They're practically breeding houses for AIDS and other sexually transmitted diseases." She muttered, veering sharply around the corner. "Nope, it's the dusty old book tomb for me." Parking in the nearest spot she could find, she hopped out from the car and began the short walk to the familiar grey building, swathed in green ivy, looking suitably dark and dull, just the way she liked it. There was an anonymity she could find nowhere else but between the covers of books, an escape which required no syringes or intoxication.

It was what her brother approved.

~.~.~

"I see her."

Behind the wheel of the Mercedes, an orange-haired man sat with the phone to his ear, his eyes hidden by a pair of sunglasses. His gaze was fixated upon a petite, raven haired girl, her mouth screwed up in an angry grimace. His eyes never left her retreating figure as she walked down the sidewalk with small, confident steps. The wind tugged mercilessly on her scarf, unwinding it from her neck. As she turned her head to secure the unyielding accessory, he caught sight of a pair of brilliant amethyst eyes.

"You sure that's Kuchiki's sister?" He asked incredulously.

"_Of course! You do me shame, Ichigo, asking such unfaithful questions!" _

"Just making sure." He scoffed back. Whatever possessed him to even consider this 'mission'? He rolled his eyes, fingers drumming impatiently on the steering wheel.

"_And do you know what to do?" _

Ichigo scoffed. "Now you're talking crap."

The voice chuckled into the phone. _"Just making sure." _There was a slight lull as Ichigo ignited the engine to a smooth purr.

"_By the way, I never said that she was his biological sister." _

"You're a bastard Urahara, you know that?" The latter snarled, but he was speaking to a dial tone. He sighed, shook himself, and drove slowly down the road, before parking on the corner.

"Well isn't this gonna be a piece of cake." He muttered sarcastically. Pulling off his glasses, he tossed them over onto the empty seat and clambered out. Looking around, he saw that the corner was deserted.

"Just grab her and go."

The girl was walking faster now, her heels tapping on the sidewalk with a sharp 'clack' on every step. She looked so small, so fragile…he suddenly felt an unfamiliar twinge of guilt. Walking forwards, he went and stood in her path, arms crossed, the streetlight casting menacing shadow across her face. Hopefully, he'd managed to look intimidating enough that she wouldn't throw too much of a fuss. Not that that little scrap of a woman could possibly offer him much resistance anyway…

"Get out of my way."

He almost started at the venom which laced through her words, each syllable sharp and distinctive.

"You've got a big voice for a small girl." He mocked.  
>"What do you want?" She asked, crossing her arms. Although she was at least two heads shorter than him, her neck craning upwards to meet his formidable height, she oozed contempt and an overall 'don't mess with me' attitude.<p>

"Just have a few questions."  
>"I don't have time to play around with dicks like you!" She said angrily, and dug the toe of her boot into his shin. He yelped with pain, a string of profanities spilling from his mouth as he doubled over, clutching the injured leg.<p>

"You little bitch!" He growled, standing straight with difficulty. Her triumphant grin was motivation enough for him to carry out the rest of his task, as he blocked her path with his body.

"I thought you would've gotten the message by now." She smirked.

"Are you Byakuya Kuchiki's sister?" He asked coolly, ignoring the throbbing pain coursing around his shin. There was definitely going to be a bruise there tomorrow.  
>Her forehead creased with the mention of the name. "What if I am?" She demanded.<p>

He grinned, brilliant white teeth illuminated by the harsh street light. "Then I've hit the jackpot."

With one swift curl of his arm, he hoisted her up by the waist and carried her to the car. For a brief second, she hung limply in his grasp. Then, her instincts overtook her and she began to thrash wildly, raising her voice to an impossible volume as she hurled insults at him.

"Let me go you asshole! This is illegal! I'll have the police on you!"

"Orders are orders." He hoisted her unceremoniously into the passenger's seat, tying a bandana around her wrists to prevent her from escape, afterwards producing a length of rope from his pocket and, after carefully avoiding her kicking feet, tied her ankles together with strong, deft fingers.

"You really are a troublesome ransom!" He muttered, dodging her buckling knees as they searched for a painful spot to target.

"Ransom?" She momentarily stopped her efforts to escape, staring at him in confusion. "A ransom?"

"Guess I've said too much." He grinned, throwing himself into the drivers' seat and locking all the doors. "Buckle up, we've got a while to go."

"How can I when I don't have hands to?" She snarled, spitting expertly in his face.

He looked over. "Guess I can't break the road rules. Gotta keep the prisoners safe, says the Genova Convention 1929."

"1949 actually." She corrected him grudgingly. "That's when the fourth rule was added specifically for the correct treatment of Prisoners of War."  
>He looked at her amusedly. "Aren't you a little know it all?" His tone made her uncomfortable; for the first time in her life, she felt as though she knew too much, not too little.<p>

"It's common knowledge." She snapped defensively.

"So is the fact that speaking to yourself is a sign of mental illness, but that doesn't put you in the doghouse, does it?" He raised an eyebrow.

"I wasn't speaking to myself!" She glared.

"I'm sorry, did you say something?" He yawned before reaching over. Her breath caught; his spicy scent of aftershave and male cologne overwhelmed her nostrils. She cringed as his arm brushed her hair skin, and when she opened her eyes, she was alarmed to find a pair of large brown eyes framed with long lashes right beside her cheek.

_'A kiss?'_ It was the first thought which coursed through her mind. His mouth sat in a sullen twist, pink lips edging closer to hers…

"There. All strapped up and ready. Wouldn't your brother be proud of you now?" The orange haired kidnapper grinned insolently, challenging her with his piercing stare, daring her to attempt an escape.

_'The seatbelt.'_ She found her breath coming in brief, shallow gasps, her heart hammering furiously in her chest. _'The hell did I think he was gonna do?' _Even so, she couldn't help the brief lapse of disappointment which coursed through her veins like the buzz-crash at night after four cups of coffee in the morning.

"Now the finishing touch." He pulled a black bandana from the waistband of his jeans, folding it three times into a blindfold.

"You will not blindfold me!" She wriggled futilely on the leather seat, but his large hands held her head firmly, those long fingers tying the blindfold around her head. Her last glimpse of humanity before sinking into the eternal night was of a pair of brown eyes, laughing silently at her expense.

"What kind of a game is this?"

He almost laughed. "The best kind. A game of Hide-and-seek. Only you don't get to choose your hiding place. I do."

"Fuck you." She spat angrily, though through her bandana, it sounded more like 'Fmmmk oou!' Writhing helplessly on the seat, Rukia gave up at last, deciding to save her strength for later instead of wearing herself out fighting these iron knots.

"Fiesty." He revved up the engine. "You ready?" 

"No." She snarled back, her voice brittle with anger.

He snorted. "Good."

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><p><strong>First chapter done! Good? Bad? Next chapter will be the introduction of the 'Shinigami' so I hope everyone likes the jobs I've assigned to them. <strong>

**Please review, but don't waste my time with flames. **

**Always open to suggestions! **

**Love,**

**SeventhString**


	2. In Wonderland

**I'm such an inconstant update-r...sigh...anyway I hope the lengthier length will make up for my tardiness! **

**So, I lied and this chapter doesn't introduce all of the Shinigami. But the rest will be introduced next. And, I hope this isn't too boring, I'm just trying to set the scene so you guys can visualise the setting a little and set yourself a context. **

**A QUESTION: Does anyone else think that this story would be better in First person POV? Please tell me, because I'm having some doubts. **

**Please please review, but no flames. **

**Love all,**

**SeventhString**

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><p><em><strong>Cha<strong>**pter Two: In Wonderland **_

He'd done it. He'd carried it out. Even though the proof of his success sat on the leather seat beside him, he still looked over to make sure that she actually existed, that she was not some warped vision his brain had cooked up.

"Mmmphf Arrk!" Strange sounds gurgled from her throat, muffled by the bandana. He smiled in spite of himself.

"You put up a good fight, I'll give you that." He replied in response. "But I'm sorry, did you say something?"

"Bahhmm Bnowww!"

"What? Bathroom break?" He mocked. "You're gonna have to hold it in, unless you want me to carry you to a bathroom and pull your pants down for you while you piss!" A protesting thump followed, made by her jerking her feet onto the covering in front of her. "Hey, be careful of that! This car isn't cheap, y'know!" He scowled.

A series of violent kicks followed, jerky, irregular movements which landed on the seat, scuffing the black leather. "Hey!" He growled, swerving yet another corner. "What did I just tell you?"

'_Idiot', _he thought._ 'Should've tied her feet to her wrists as well.' _

For a brief moment, he doubted Urahara's decision. A kidnap was something completely new, completely beyond their experience. Late night cop chases, fake trails, the publicity…this was possibly the biggest heist they would pull off. The danger would multiply one-hundred fold, if the media ever got wind of this, which, inevitably they would. As genius as Urahara was, he was one damned cooky bastard.

"_You know, Ichigo, you're the only one who can pull this off." Urahara smiled from behind the brim of his hat, opening his hands in invitation. _

"_She's a detective's sister, Urahara. You're treading in hot water." _

"_Naww, Ichi-kun! What happened to your lust for adventure?"_

"_It's having an off day." _

"_Come on, Ichigo. I know you can do it." _

Urahara trusted him too much. Trouble was, they all seemed to know him better than he did.

He looked over at the squirming bundle. _'Little bitch'_, he rubbed his shin instinctively, where a large, unseemly bruise would inevitably be forming. She was still struggling against those knots, like a fly whose wings have been pulled off. Well, at least she was easy on the eyes. Her small, slim figure was not completely hidden by the jeans and singlet she wore; in fact, could be said accentuated it. Her black hair was a complete mess, but pulled back from the face, revealed a desirable bone structure. Her cheekbones were high, skin pale and smooth, and a small, button nose peeked out from between the blindfold and bandana. And small, perky breasts, sitting on her otherwise flat chest…

"Oophf aak!"

But her attitude was a major turn-off.

~.~.~

How long they drove, Rukia had no idea. Time passed like an eternity in suffocating darkness; for once, she understood what it was like to be robbed of her vision, to be swimming in an eternity which stretched out in front of her like the opening of a black hole. In vain, she strained her hearing in an attempt to catch directions, to distinguish their journey through a multitude of tire screeching and honks, but when this failed, she resorted to mesmerizing every turn and halt, but what was the point of knowing they had just turned right for eighty metres when she had had no idea where they'd turned eighty metres from?_ 'And they make escape seem so easy in the movies'_, she thought bitterly, wondering if she could possibly bite a hole through the bandana and whether it would possibly help.

Probably not.

"Almost there." She turned in the direction of the voice, which, now robbed of a body, sounded like that of a demon, a cruel, relentless demon sent by the torturers to plague her every whim. The car pulled to a stop, a door slammed as the one next to her opened, a chilly breath of fresh air sending goose bumps up her skin. Two rough hands grabbed her by the waist and slung her over a sharp, jarring object, which she deduced to be his shoulder. She was jostled uncomfortably by his steady gait, as he ascended a few steps, then swung (most likely) what she thought was a door. The scent hit her first; a strange mix of takeaway pizza, red bean and clean laundry, completely unlike that of her own house.

Then, with an unceremonious thump which sent a shiver of pain up from her coccyx, the blindfold and bandana was off.

"Ah, and here is our princess!" Rukia turned to the strange, lilting tone. It belonged to a pale man with shaggy, light blonde hair, melancholy features and light brown eyes. He was wearing a white shirt, black pants and shiny patent leather shoes, but what set him aside from the norm was the floppy white and green striped hat sitting on his head, reminding her of peppermints bought at the confectionary two blocks down her street. He twirled a wooden cane in his hands, although he showed no sign of disability. A smile sat lethargically on his face, not of malice, but more of expectance. "Untie our guest, Ichigo; that is no way to treat our visitor!"

Ichigo. Suddenly, it occurred to her that it was the first time she'd heard the name of her captor. He seemed an entirely different person too, a sullen frown drawing his eyebrows together as he undid the knots around her wrist and ankles. She almost cried with relief as the circulation returned to her limbs, and it was not until a few minutes later she remembered that indeed, she had not come here of her own accord, that she had been kidnapped.

"What do you want with me?" She demanded, glaring at the stranger, who smiled benignly in return.

"My apologies for not introducing myself. I am Kisuke Urahara, owner of 'Seireitei'." He held out his hands up to the high ceiling, then lowering them to the walls, then the floor.

"Seireitei? What is this place, some nuthouse?" She snorted, looking around at the faded interior. There was a certain extravagance behind the shabby velvet curtains pulled apart to let in a stream of sunlight through the dusty windows. Worn leather couches, sitting on a threadbare carpet, in front of which stood a large, plasma TV, its modernity seemingly out of place in this clutter of mismatched eras. A large chandelier swayed precariously above their heads, large bronze lamps stood on small, fragile looking tables which resembled overgrown bar-stools. To their left was a long, narrow hallway lit by old-fashioned wall-lights, and to their right was a wide wooden staircase leading up to a corridor of five closed doors, every step worn with constant use. It was an environment to which she had never been exposed; cobwebs were left to form in the unreachable corners of the ceiling, books were left lying carelessly on stairs and carpets, with utter disregard for any poor unfortunate who might trip and fall on them, the candles which sat on the coffee table in front of the TV was a fire hazard in itself. And yet, there was something strangely welcoming, warm, and _sturdy_ about this hocus-pocus, as though everything belonged –even the coffee mugs left to sit on the wooden posts of the banister.

"On the contrary! This place is very well-respected! I am very well-respected." He added, bowing extravagantly, his shadowed eyes capturing her gaze. "To the outside world, I am running an 'orphanage' for dysfunctional young adults, giving them lodging, food, and friendship. Of course, this is a vast improvement instead of letting them run havoc around the city, leaving a graffiti trail and large bills for the government. Everybody prefers it this way." He gestured to Ichigo, who had sat himself down on the sagging red sofa and was changing the channels on the TV absentmindedly. "Ichigo Kurosaki. He was my first. A typical case of estrangement and guilt. Ran away from home because he believes he was the cause of his mother's death. I took him under my wing, and voila! Now he has a home, a job, and an income. He is whole and happy again."

With a glance to the boy sitting in front of the TV, Rukia highly doubted he was whole, much less happy. "But what about the inside?"

He grinned. "This is our Wonderland. When Alice stepped into the looking-glass, she found a world completely unlike her own, where anything and everything is possible. And here, we are the same. There are no rules, only the ones you make for yourself."

"Showing off as usual are we, Kisuke?" The sultry, exotic voice mesmerized her before the figure had sashayed into view. A dark skinned woman with long, purple hair placed her arm around Urahara, her curvaceous figure accentuated by the tight leather jeans and jacket she wore.

"Yoruichi-san." Urahara smiled cordially at the newcomer. "I thought you were asleep, my apologies if I woke you."

"I couldn't possibly sleep without you by my side." She purred with all the feline of a cat, her white teeth gleaming dangerously close to his neck. Rukia blushed and hastily looked away; public displays of affection had never, ever been her thing.

"Well, as you can see, our esteemed guest is here." He gestured to Rukia, who was still perched awkwardly on the floor. Her bright, amber eyes flickered briefly over her body, in a brief moment of scrutiny, before warming into a smile. "Rukia, Yoruichi. Yoruichi, Rukia." He placed a hand on the woman's shoulder. "This woman runs the place. I'm really just a mere soul in her courtyard."

"Welcome to Seireitei." Yoruichi smiled. "So, where did Urahara pick you up?"

"He didn't 'pick me up'." Rukia replied stiffly, hiding her confusion in the formality of their introductions. "I was kidnapped." Her eyes alighted on Ichigo once more, who was still slouched on the sofa, the TV now turned off.

"Of course." Yoruichi slapped her forehead lightly as though this was completely normal. "You've been expected."

Rukia turned to the door. It was but a few steps from her grasp. If she ran for it, she would be out of here…

"Ichigo." Urahara placed an arm around Rukia, warming her and restricting her, walked over to the couch and tapped the mop of orange hair with the end of his cane.

"What?" The latter scowled, turning around reluctantly.

"Escort Rukia-san to her room, please."

"I don't want-"

"Ichigo." There was a moment of silence as Urahara eyed the boy.

"Bastard." Ichigo muttered, heaving his tall frame off the couch. "C'mon." He grabbed Rukia roughly by the arm, dragging her up the stairs and the last door on the right. "Get inside."

"Hey!" She wrenched free of his grip, landing on a soft carpet. "You never answered my question."

"What question?" He asked impatiently, closing the door behind him.

"What you want with me." She said slowly, drawing out every single syllable.

"I'm not retarded, I get you."

"Then answer me!"

He glared at her. "Believe me, I'm asking myself the same question."

She put a hand to her pocket, feeling around for her trusted mobile. "I'll call my brother. He'll crack the whole police force down on all of you, believe me."

"Your brother's not here. He's overseas." He corrected.

"How do you know?" She asked accusingly, her hand falling from her pocket.

"I've done my research." He yawned.

"Then I'll call my friends! I'll tell them you've kidnapped me!" Rukia said indignantly. "I'll tell them to call the police and then you and this criminal institute will be shut down forever!"

Ichigo just looked at her lazily, as though he were explaining a concept a three year old would understand. "And what makes you think they'd believe you?"

"Because they're my friends." She raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, because when you've been kidnapped, you really do have your phone on you." He said.

"Sometimes when the kidnapper is an ignorant bastard."

He pushed his face dangerously close to hers. "You calling me an ignorant bastard?"

"I sure as hell am!" She crossed her arms.

"Here. Call your friends." He flippantly threw her a phone, grinning with self-righteousness. "They won't believe a word you say."

Angrily, she flipped the damn contraption open and punched in the first number she thought of. Rangiku would certainly be on tenterhooks right now, wondering where she was.

"Hello?" She almost collapsed with relief at the familiar voice, so bubbly and bright.

"Ran, it's me!"

"Ruki-chan! Where have you been? I've been wondering where you are."

"Listen. I've been kidnapped." She said, glaring at Ichigo, who merely scowled back.

"Kidnapped? By who?"  
>Two strong fingers nimbly plucked the phone from her ear. "This is Kurosaki Ichigo." His tone was breathy, low, and – she hated to admit it but- deadly attractive. "I've kidnapped Rukia, and I'm not giving her back." With that, he dropped it back into Rukia's hands.<p>

"You didn't tell me you were with a boy!" Despite the circumstances, Rukia felt herself bristle at the surprise in Rangiku's tone. "You are sneaky, hiding him from me! Were you worried I'd steal him?"

"Trust me, you can have him." She glared at the flaming orange-head, who raised an eyebrow in return, smirking inwardly.

"Well you have your fun darling, just remember to use protection! I don't want to be a godmother just yet!"

"No, wait-"

"Well, enjoy the night. He sounds like a real beast in bed." Matsumoto gushed.

"Rangiku!" Rukia blushed angrily despite her hatred against the orange haired bastard who was grinning insolently at the phone.

"Now don't worry about being inexperienced, just let your instincts take hold!"

"No it's not-"

"Don't let me keep you any longer! Night! Remember, protection!"

"No…" Rukia whispered into the phone. Smartly, Ichigo whipped it from her hands, dangling it triumphantly.

"I told you so."

A few knocks landed lightly on the door, before a tall, navy haired man walked in, bearing an armful of clothes. "Yoruichi picked these out for you." He said, setting them on the bed. "They're the smallest sizes she could find without having to wander into the child's range. Hope they fit."

"T-Thanks." Rukia murmured, casting her eye dubiously over the pile of purples, whites and blues, but what really held her stare was the '69' tattooed on his cheek, and the three thin red scars which stretched from the top of his right eye down to his jaw.

"Toiletries can be found in the bathrooms, which are located downstairs in the corridor to your right. Remember, boys on the left, girls on the right." He indicated briefly with his hands, and then walked promptly out.

"That's Shuuhei Hisagi." Ichigo answered her unspoken question. "Our 'Publicity Manager'. He deals with the media for us. Frames us, saves us. He's got an important job."

Just as he'd finished talking, another intruder interrupted. "Kuchiki-san!" Came a bubbly, high female voice. A pair of large female appendages _–'they rival even Rangiku's!'- _protruded through the crack of the door before a face and body accompanied them. A pair of friendly grey eyes regarded Rukia with friendly welcome shadowed with locks of auburn hair.

"What am I, a circus show?" She snarled angrily. The girl looked rather taken aback, but her smile faltered only slightly as she walked inside, bearing two dishes, one containing some questionable looking stew, and the other a pile of puffy, purple pastries.

"I'm Orihime Inoue, the head chef!" She announced delightedly, tripping into the room. "Are you hungry? I have chicken and cabbage soup with chocolate pasta, or honey taro puffs with sprouts and jam."

She swallowed down the gag, trying to block the odours from wafting up her nostrils. "N-No thanks!" She managed to gasp.

"Are you sure?" Orihime pouted. "What about you, Kurosaki-kun?" She accosted the other unfortunate, who was looking strangely green.

"I-I'm fine." He managed.

She pouted, picking up her plates with reluctance. "Mou, Kurosaki-kun, I'm starting to think you guys don't like my cooking!"

'_I'm surprised no one's died from it,'_ Rukia gagged, clamping her hands over her mouth.

"Just go, Inoue." Ichigo's simple command drew her lips shut. She looked hurt, but hurriedly stood up and walked to the door.

"Goodnight, Kuchiki-san." She nodded, and disappeared, the smell dispersing with him. Gradually, Rukia felt her stomach settling back to normal.

"Takes a brick to knock some sense into that girl." He sighed. "Urahara only hired her because she was so _enthusiastic_." He spat out the last word as though it were the greatest offence in all of mankind.

Rukia looked around the room. It was small, cosy, with a bed pushed up against the wall, a wardrobe to her right, and a desk sitting underneath a tiny window, through which the moon could be seen. A candle flickered invitingly on the bedside table, sitting in a glass jar to contain the flame. Suddenly, she realised the gravity of her situation. Maybe tomorrow, she would attempt escape. But now, with sleep creeping into her system and bewilderment rendering her senses disabled, she would rest and leave escape for another day. Maybe tomorrow, but not tonight.

"Get some sleep." Ichigo yawned, settling his head against the wall.

"What, with you in here?" She argued.

"And let you run away? I don't like the arrangement any more than you do." He sighed, and closed his eyes.

She stared at his neck, the strong curve of his jaw, the gleam of his biceps as he crossed his arms behind his head. _'He's still a bastard.' _She decided, slipping a long white shirt off the bed, and walking to the wardrobe.

"Get out." She ordered. His eyes flickered open.

"I won't peek."

"OUT!"

"Troublesome brat…" He muttered, but nevertheless slipped out of the room, closing the door behind him. She pulled her clothes off hurriedly, slipping on the shirt, sliding her bare legs into the smooth, clean sheets before calling out. "You can come in now."

He returned to his previous position on the floor. "Now can I sleep?"

She rolled her eyes and blew out the candle without replying, letting her head sink into the downy pillows. Surprisingly, she found it easy to fall asleep; the lull of his gentle snoring lured her to slumber. The last thought on her mind was that, for the first time since the long-gone days of slumber parties, she had slept in the same room as somebody else. And, even if her company was a scowling monkey, it was _comfortable_.

"_Welcome to Wonderland." _

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><p><strong>Ok? Really shit? The plot will pick up soon! Also, I'll repeat the question, whether you think this story would be better in first person POV.<strong>

**Please review,**

**SeventhString**


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